Chrysalis
by katamarann
Summary: It has taken a long while for Anna to emerge from the shadows, forever changed but not broken, and he loves her all the same. Contains vague references to the events of Season 4, but nothing detailed. No (official) spoilers beyond Season 5.


It is nearly four years after the concert, and three after she shakingly took his hand, led him upstairs to their small bedroom, and let herself be loved by him for the first time since that night, that he stops in quiet reflection upon coming across the French garter she has tucked far away into the back of her top drawer.

His fingers trace the silken center and delicate lace edges, all cream and light pink that would sit against her flushed skin beautifully, if she had the audacity to wear it for him again.

He misses that Anna.

He misses the Anna who suggested not once, but twice, that she would be his lover, his mistress, the second time much harder to turn down than the first. It did not stop them from losing themselves in each other when they could, in darkened alcoves, after dark under the stars, and in stolen moments on the stairs of the Abbey.

He misses the Anna who, on their wedding night, was unashamed to let her hands and lips roam over his broken body, who cried out so loudly into the pillow that he thought she would bring the entire house down upon them. The Anna who had her way with him first, and then gleefully let him show her what she hadn't already heard of from gossip and salacious banter amongst maids.

He misses the Anna who, after he was released from prison and they were given the key to their cottage, pulled him down onto the lopsided and dusty old couch and tore at his clothing until enough had been freed for their purposes. He remembers the rough edge of the heel of her shoes digging into his thigh and smiles. He still has the little slip of paper she didn't think he'd known about with each room and sturdy flat surface in the cottage listed. They spent the next few months crossing them off one by glorious one.

He misses the Anna who, after they'd had just a little too much to drink in the Highlands, the one time he allowed himself to indulge because he knew she would be there to catch him if he fell, whispered in his ear that the copse of trees just a short distance away would conceal them very nicely from any prying eyes. They had the day to themselves after all.

He misses the Anna who, on their last night in Scotland together before she had to leave with Lady Mary in the morning, quietly snuck into his tiny bedroom and, upon realizing that his bed was far too old and squeaky for what she'd intended, instead lay there and used their joined hands to find her release, then helped him to his own before the bagpipes sounded the arrival of morning.

He misses that Anna.

For a long time, his Anna became a woman who was uncharacteristically shy and frightened, who avoided meeting his eyes. Who felt ashamed to want him, to yearn for his touch, who felt unclean. It was a long time before he convinced her wholly that he wanted her, that he yearned to touch her, that he never, _ever_ saw her as unclean.

It took far longer for her to believe that for herself.

She is emerging from the shadows a little more every day. She smiles almost as often as she used to, she freely lets herself touch him and be touched by him. She lets herself be loved and she loves herself again.

He loves this Anna.

He loves the Anna who slowly went from closed eyes and silent breathing in their bed as they moved together to the Anna who now watches him with intensity and love and only closes her eyes when she cries out in ecstasy.

He loves the Anna who, unbeknownst to anyone else in the servants hall, traces whorls on the fabric covering his thighs and entices him with a glance to meet her in the courtyard after dark, where tentative kisses become passionate and promising as they relearn each other.

He loves the Anna who, one late autumn afternoon not so long ago, nervously darted her eyes back and forth at his suggestion and turned him down, only to bring it up again the next time they had a half day and walked back to the cottage together. She leaned her back against the old oak tree a good distance from the road and smiled into his kisses, not brave enough to let his hands under her skirts, but nonetheless eager and wanting.

He misses the Anna before her spirit was stolen, but he _adores_ the Anna who has reclaimed herself. He loved the Anna who surprised him with every racy suggestion and he loves the Anna who has been slowly finding the courage to make her desires known again. She is no longer any of the things that she had become in those dark times.

He especially loves the Anna who, in the seventh year of their marriage, rocks and croons softly as she holds their baby to her breast. She fixes him with a smile when she realizes that he's been standing there holding the lace garter in his fingers when he was supposed to be searching for a new gown for the baby.

"Tonight, Mister Bates," she says with a wink and a blush that tells him to leave the garter out on the top of the chest for later.

She's slowly been coming back to him, that Anna that he misses. But he loves this Anna beyond reason. Soon they will be one and the same.


End file.
